


O Tannenbaum

by AequoAnimo



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AequoAnimo/pseuds/AequoAnimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And that is how, beer in one hand and string of lights in another, Jamie Macdonald ended up on a ladder decorating the plastic evergreen monstrosity on Christmas Eve."</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Tannenbaum

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a combination of sitting next to the Christmas tree for too long this evening and this post: http://omnishamblestexts.tumblr.com/post/44363188906/732-you-almost-set-me-on-fire-last-night

“We’ll get one of those little pre-lit tabletop things, throw a couple of silver balls on there and call it a night, yeah? Let’s go,” Malcolm said in the aisle of the department store, pushing a trolley of presents.

 

“Och, come on, Malc, you can’t just have a tiny tree like that. You can’t even put presents under it. You need a proper tree, one that you can see from the street. An intimidating tree,” Jamie said with a dignified nod. Christmas trees were a fucking holiday tradition, something to be revered, right up there with getting pissed on Christmas Eve and threatening to bottle your worthless fuckwit of a brother-in-law. Not that Jamie had one of those. (He had three.)    

 

“Right, and string the intestines of your enemies round the mighty green branches. I know, I know, I’ve heard this one before,” Malcolm said, rolling his eyes. “Now come on, Attila the Hun, we’ve still got to find something for a few more people.” He glanced down at his shopping list.

 

But when he looked up, he was alone. Jamie, naturally quite convincing all on his own, proved to be an even more considerable force to be reckoned with when he returned wielding a nine foot box over his head, much to the dismay of the elderly shoppers standing beside him.

 

And that is how, beer in one hand and string of lights in another, Jamie Macdonald ended up on a ladder decorating the plastic evergreen monstrosity on Christmas Eve.   

 

When Jamie was young, the Macdonalds didn’t have much money, but they always found plenty of ways to make it feel like Christmas. Jamie loved the holidays – good food, booze, the kind of gentle chaos that came only from dozens of family members being packed into a small space. Jamie was not normally one to decorate during the rest of the year, but it was Christmas, for Christ’s sake (quite literally) and it was hard to get into the spirit when your home looked fresh out of a fucking housekeeping magazine, all clean white surfaces and neat, uncluttered space.  

 

He placed his bottle down the tool platform at the top of the ladder. Beer was a tool too, he reckoned. An important one. He strung the lights round the top of the tree, taking care not to bend the top branch.

 

Jamie _was_ slightly disappointed that the tree wasn’t real. Growing up, all they had to do was sneak out to a field on the outskirts of Motherwell with an axe and a few boys and they were sorted. In London, getting a real tree was a big production. But what this tree lacked in organic material, it made up for in size. Gone were the scraggly, dimly-lit trees of Jamie’s youth. When he plugged the lights into the extension cord, the whole thing lit up like a fucking Vegas strip joint under a blacklight. He eyed it proudly. This was the Jupiter of trees; it was _stately,_ looming over the living room like the Elizabeth Tower.

 

He began to work on the ornaments while Malcolm cooked in the kitchen. There were some elegant glass balls that Malcolm had picked out at the store, but Jamie wanted something more authentic.

 

“Oi, have we got any ornaments?” Jamie shouted in the kitchen’s direction.

  
“There’s some in the bag, remember?” Malcolm yelled over the sizzling of the stove.

 

“I know, I mean… old ones. Family ones.”

 

Malcolm paused at that. Jamie couldn’t see him, but he knew Malcolm went rigid at the mention of the word. Malcolm was still getting used to all of this, whereas family was a second instinct for Jamie.

 

“Er, try the closet.”

           

Jamie picked up his bottle and plodded into the bedroom. He found the box of ornaments soon enough. They were mostly gifts from Malcolm’s niece, featuring photos of her in various stages of childhood toothlessness. There was a handprint, aged three, and a glitter-encrusted version with her school photo glued on, circa Year 4. Jamie snorted at the gingerbread man he found hidden in the bottom of the box that had a photo of Malcolm pasted on its face. He filed that one away to tease him about tomorrow.

           

 “The fuck are you doing in there?” Malcolm shouted.  
           

“Found the ornaments.”

           

“No, I mean, what’s that smell?”

           

He shoved the box down onto the bed and walked to the living room, where Malcolm was now standing hunched over the tree, waving a cutting board at the smoke emanating from somewhere in the mess of branches.

           

Jamie realised. “Aw, _fuck_ ,” he said, pushing Malcolm out of the way to get to the extension cord near the tree’s faux trunk. He vaguely remembered leaving it near the top with that last string of lights.

           

He scrambled up onto the ladder and it swayed back and forth, steadied only by Malcolm holding it below, looking up at Jamie in confusion.

           

The whole thing was melted, plastic and all. The surrounding green needles had turned to liquid and then dried again in an unfortunate wilting shape.

           

“Fuck, get the – _”_ he tried to bark over his shoulder, but Malcolm was already running back from the kitchen with the fire extinguisher. Neither was really sure if this was the right course of action – there wasn’t a visible _flame_ , after all – but it felt right, so Jamie grabbed it from his hands and sprayed the fucker down. Malcolm opened the windows, letting in a gust of icy wind.

           

Once they were sure that there was no imminent danger of a second Great Fire, they collapsed onto the couch.

           

“Christ, how did that even happen?” Malcolm muttered to the ceiling.

           

“Extension cord was fucked, I guess.” Jamie shrugged.

           

They sat in silence, breathing in the remnants of _Eau de Catastrofuck_ mixed with cold winter air.

           

“Jamie,” Malcolm said slowly, eyes narrowing. “How many cords did you put on there?”

           

“Well, you’d only got _two_ , and I had five sets of lights I needed to put on, so –”

           

Malcolm began to tense his body to shout at the daft cunt, but couldn’t find it in him. He just laughed at the absurdity before them. The tree was a wreck, half covered in foam and half dark from the casualty, but they had time before the guests arrived tomorrow. Besides, it wasn’t Christmas without a healthy dose of disaster.

           

“Still an arsonist after all this time, eh?” Malcolm said with a twisted smile.

           

“Och, fuck off, I was fifteen and you _know_ it was just the once,” Jamie said, and pulled him for a kiss.

           

 

 


End file.
